Allison turned the envelope upside down and shook it for more clues. A scrap of purple paper slid out. The note read: “TEDS GOT A GIRLFRIEND.”

Ted? Was this a joke? Who in the world had pushed this into their home? She opened the front door, but no one was out there.

She pressed back to downward dog again and tried to focus on her breath, but she couldn’t stop seeing the face of the woman in the photo. Was it someone at the university who was trying to blackmail Ted? Some malcontent whose story hadn’t run in the university magazine? She moved into plank, then all the way down to the mat, and slid up into cobra.

Maybe it wasn’t a joke at all. Maybe he had a girlfriend. If so, it served her right. And it would explain his lack of interest in sex. She pressed back to downward dog, then jumped to the front of the mat.

Ted walked in the room. “Hi there.”

“What the hell do you want?” Allison said.

He started. “I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing.”

“Who’s this?” she said, picking up the photo.

“Playmate of the Month?”

She studied his face. “You have no idea?”

“Should I?”

She showed him the note.

“They forgot the apostrophe.” He frowned at the photo, scrutinizing it.

“Enough already,” Allison said, snatching it away.

“It’s not very well done.”

“What?”

“Look at it. It’s completely fake.” They took it into the kitchen, where the light was better.

“What’s fake?” Jillian said from the dining room.

“Nothing,” Ted and Allison said in unison.

The face really didn’t match the rest of it. The face was crisp, the rest of the photo fuzzy, romantic boudoir photo–like.

“It’s a joke,” Ted said. “Photoshopped. And poorly, at that.”

“What?” Jillian said.

“Never mind,” Allison said.

The phone rang. Allison answered. It was Suzanne, apologizing for calling so late, apologizing, again, for moving out. “Let it go,” Allison said. “You sound terrible. Want company? I’ll come over. I’ll bring something that’ll make you laugh.”

SUZANNE LAY IN THE DARK AT THE COXES’, WAITING FOR ALLISON TO arrive. She tried to make out the shapes in the room that had been set up for her: the television, the stocked miniature refrigerator she couldn’t reach, the women’s magazines—packed with recipes and household tips. Kaye obviously had tried hard to make things nice. She popped in and out of the room all afternoon, trying to make her feel at home. “I’m just tired,” Suzanne finally managed. “I need to sleep.”